Sehkmet has been released again. The interlude to the opening trilogy..the poem Skyrape, set to visual artist Lucifer Lazerus’s artistic interpretation…

The poem Skyrape written by Poecatt is a noir goth dreamscape inspired by conversations between artist and writer last autumn. Sprung whole from Poecatt’s musings on the darkly sanguine indulgences of vampiric lore, both historic and contemporary, and its edged marginal positioning as Bdsm fetish,

Skyrape became the genesis of a collaboration that continues to unfold in Sehkmet.

We bring you this second installment as a continuation of a treat, and welcome feedback as the style and presentation has altered, as promised.

Lucifer and I are still hoping to get to some artistic merger….my mind has kickedback in, temporary suspension of semantics has lifted, am penning again.

I usually have something to say about where I travel..been rendered somewhat speechless by the jersey ambience..small town Assville. Rockin on.

Hope to start taking pics soon. This is me the night before I flew, stretching out the arms. It’s all shuffling like a pack of haphazardly tossed cards ,impressions that will stack up when I return.

I’m sure the right brain and left brain will have met in in the middle by then,

and there will be some convergence and output.

Whatever, surviving, waving, hoping to bring you some fresh new collab soon.

Ps. check out the teaser cover of Lucifer’s and my Sehkmet 2nd release interlude…coming soon..check this out at his site at http://www.luciferlazerus.com

The release will be on the 16th, we continue to welcome your comments.

if you are having problems viewing check out scribed.com, first release fully viewable for free, plus our collection of illustrated erotic celtic poetry..For the Love of Orange,a delightful sampling of our art and poetiks merged.

I ‘ve been thinking about the politics of identity lately, and when I say identity I am referring to all the qualifiers that we adher to. Our political persuasions, our sexual affinities, our brand preferences and status symbols, our socio medical labels, and the roles we identify with…parent, son, wife of, ect..

What’s in a label? Foremost there is freedom and there is constraint. Labels are a signifier to ourselves and to others…a signifier that points to a set of expectations based on our assumptions and experience with the word itself.

We may labor under the constraints of a label, or we may take flight within the kernels of realities attached.

However as I type this I’m staring at an orange resting on its side that I just bladed in half. And it came to me..as the ramble jam that is often the way I muse is want to do..

that a label is like an unpeeled orange, you pick it up, you can see its external properties, you have an expectation of what it will taste like..

bladed in half though the interior reveals so much more orangatastik detail.

I tend to be label sensitive. I agree that they are necessary, and expedite time and expectations.

Tonight , tho, I am reflecting on the downside of labels, and our drive to nail down our human experience like a coffin, labels often serve the establishment, unless reappropriated by a subculture as its own,

and the most powerful drive in labeling is to establish norms..

and norms as we all know or we should are culturally and historically specific and serve the power of the status quo.

I’m not advocating anarchy or a silence epidemic..haha, but perhaps that is why I find some of my most truthful sentiments are expressed thru art and the poetic..the inside view of the orange..

“Who are you, who the fuck are You, you you..”

Take away your labels this evening. Just for a night. Without them are you naked? And is that freeing or frightening?

More to come on this topic..I’ve just begun. Someone shut me up, please..laughing…I am not speaking to D/s here..I am speaking to the power of language across all spheres of internal and social experience, how we come to “know’ ourselves..and represent that to the world around us..

my next post on this will be speaking to the facsism and freedom inherent in language..with a focus on disability semantics..

Listening to William Orbit and Beth Orton’s Dice this morning, an oceanic remix, trance, it’s beautiful how it waves like the swell of a roller at sea.

I’m feeling some poignancy, an ache, excitement about the day …but struggling to focus crisply and with clarity on the manuscript on masochism as a way of life, a life aesthetic, that is completed, but that I am organizing and pulling together..

I am so excited about this manuscript, it was an odd project, it did not begin with intent, I realized it had cohesion as a work after a year’s worth of musings were pulled together and in the hand.

I write on napkins, yellow lined paper pads, lipstick on the mirror, hell on my body if this is the only place to jot a fragment of poetry, a phrase.

Metaphor is everywhere for the tongue, the eyes, the heart.

I have longed to do some performance art for a few years now, my writing in prose poetiks is for my mouth and for your ear, it is begging to release itself thru my body as text and multimedia.

Story telling, the art of, is shamanistic..and my body must speak..static photos do not feed my urge to bring motion to sound.

A leap, but one I am ready for, and I am eager to connect with other performance artists for idea exchange, mentoring..

The muse is capricious at the best of times. Historically seen as a female, she is mythological, touches all of us, and will not be owned by any…
She comes and goes at her own whim, sure we can put ourselves in situations conducive to feeding her, calling her out to play and grace our lives and imaginations, but she lives on irony, tragedy and joy.

She is NOT for sale.
One cannot buy her or she disappears..a phantom creature,able to simply dissolve thru the tightest of bindings.

She requires patience and she demands respect.

I have danced with her all my life, I have been humbled by her mysterious comings and goings, I have been awed how she is sometimes most tangible in the most wreckhoused of scenarios..

She speaks to me when I allow joy into my life, and wonder, she comforts me in tragedy…

Who or what sets you up for a playdate with the muse?
Is it nature, nurture, lovers, light, the passing of the seasons, music..

She is ephemeral, and tho we often experience her thru others,
she is not to be mistaken for the other..you are the conduit that opens to her..

You, you, you..it is your eyes, your ears, your heart that renders you open or closed to her manifestations..

Thoughts?
Morning musings to the many here who dance with the muse daily..

i Woke from a dream and in it i was Begging you to have Sex with me on cam bc, as i
said in My dream we’d already had sex in person, in R/t ,and tho i had Experienced you in every other way ,i had not visually,it was one of those post/sleep chaotic Moments when it All merges, the Tails of Many things, and i was searchin, searchin….

not onli bc i was NOT certain we had had R/t sex but also bc you looked like Someone else in My dream,but you/were/not/Him, you/were/You ,and i felt Something Significant had Happened,but i was Not Sure What, and then i Rose and went to My door, and it was Wide Open and i KNEW it HAD been left Shut, and i Thought was Someone here while I slept? Have i been the victim of a
Theft?

and then i went to my deck and Looked out across the Water, and there was a rainbow Strung across the Metallic evening Skies, and the Trees were Shivering The Way They do when a Storm is coming…

and i re/Called your Voice, and i re/Membered You, it was so Very Very Late, Long Past Coherence, there Was no sex,no subspace, just this and onli this, Your voice, Orpheus Descending,dreaming me Down,Down into inchoate layers, Lost, interpretative Dance,Open to Any and All Meanings i Might assign This,

inDelibly Scrawled,Forever Archived,You,you,you…

and i WANTED to Call Somebody Somewhere and Report a
crime.
but The Crime remains Undefined, and the
Perpetrator has noface/1000 faces…

i heard the faintest LullaBye thats What
I heard,
Hush, hush, Babe,
but there Was No Singer standing
Over me….

Welcome! Enjoy a growing collection of informative and polemical articles and prose poetry, I write with a celtic influence, on a range of topics from D/s to madness and the way the topography of the land shapes a people and their collective soul… This space will feature interviews and I ... Continue reading →